My Love is Like a Powder Keg
by youaremarvelous
Summary: Spain x Romano ficlet/one-shot inspired by a plane ride and a conversation. It's so easy to say "I love you," but it's so much harder to actually do it. It works out anyway, because Toni's no good with words, but he is good at sliding his hand onto a slender knee and squeezing lightly when the plane takes an especially jarring lurch.


They think he's a martyr or something, which is ridiculous, because really, his hands are just as red as theirs. But it doesn't stop the looks, the whispers, or in some cases, the outright proclamations that he must be so patient and so caring and just so unequivocally _good_ to put up with him. 'Him,' meaning the man sitting next to him, curled up to the window, fingers furled so tightly against the hem of his seat that his knuckles are white. But he's not scared, because he's flown so many times and "I just like to be able to see when we take-off and land, okay Toni? What's with the 20 questions, switch seats with me already, you bastard."

But the thing is, Antonio thinks he just might be scared, and then it's a balancing act of deciding whether coddling is the answer, or making him laugh, or staying silent and pretending that he doesn't notice the way his face blanches and quiet curses permeate the air every time they hit a patch of turbulence. Most of the time he chooses wrong, but he's trying, and he'll keep trying, because when he gets it right it's so brilliant, the best thing in the world honestly. It makes up for the insults and the pouting, just to see the look of distant surprise in the Italian's eyes when he realizes some people, or at least some _one_, likes him best and puts him first and just wants him to be happy.

He's putting it together piece by piece, by now he could write a short novel about how to behave with Lovino, how to make him feel safe and comfortable and loved. That's what it comes down to really: he would never admit it, but Lovino thinks he's a burden, knows he is, but he's wrong and Antonio's told him so many times. The words don't matter, though, and Antonio can't blame him, because it's so easy to say "I love you," but it's so much harder to actually do it. It works out anyway because Toni's no good with words, but he is good at sliding his hand onto a slender knee and squeezing lightly when the plane takes an especially jarring lurch. He keeps his face forward though, because if he looked his intentions would be too obvious and then Lovino would get embarrassed.

"I can't believe you made me take you," Lovino mumbles for the hundredth time, jaw tight in feigned anger. He wants to make it clear that this is not his idea, that he's not a baby and he can take care of himself. Antonio gets it, and it's true, he knows the boy can handle the tears and the pain associated with visits with his family-he's practiced at it, has endured it for years. Feeling frustrated and jealous and unloved and then, always, self-loathing, are things Lovino has slowly learned to take in stride, or at least to push down deep in his chest until they resurface in halting, painful confessions late at night with Antonio. Then he he finds himself begging his Italian to "please, please stop. Breathe." Because that crappy reception is interrupting his words and he can hardly hear what he's saying and all he wants to do is stroke his ear in the way that always makes his eyes soften and lips twitch.

Antonio crosses his legs to cover the shiver that sneaks up his spine when he remembers the last visit. Lovino hadn't even tried to call him then, he was crying too hard and "it would just be a waste of money." So instead he got a stupid text message saying **hey** and then, **awake?**

**Yeah.** He texted back, and it takes a ridiculously long time just to type that message because his fingers are already shaking so badly with nerves.

**Can't** is all he gets in response. And then he's done, and he just wants to hide Lovino away from the whole world that doesn't know that he prefers apple juice to ginger ale when he's sick or that he hates when bare arms brush together.

**Baby. Come home. Please. I'll buy you a ticket. **

He doesn't come home, though, because he's so brave, despite what he or anyone else thinks. But then, when Toni sees him lingering a little longer in front of the mirror than usual, sizing himself up in that way he does when he's about to go to Italy for a visit, like he's pre-meditating the ways he'll be compared to his brother, the ways he'll be found inferior to him, he insists that he's going, too. "It's not a discussion," he says. And it's not, instead it turns out to be a huge fucking argument, but in the end he wins because he's not the total wuss and pushover everyone thinks he is and sometimes he gets what he wants. Actually, most of the time he does, because all he really wants is just for Lovino to be happy.

He doesn't fool himself into thinking that his presence will keep Lovino from falling into the shadows that always flare up and snuff out the confidence Antonio has been carefully, slowly, bit by bit, rekindling, but it comforts him to know he'll be there to stretch out on the bathroom tiles with him (cause the kid always wants to be in the bathroom when he's upset, Antonio's not entirely sure why) when the subtle reminders that he's the unfavorite in his little family become too much for his already battered mind.

It's not that Toni thinks that Rome or Feliciano are bad people. It's complicated. But they're his family and they contributed at least in some way to the person he is, and for that Antonio has to love them, at least a little. And he knows Lovino is guilty of adding to the conflict, because he gets so angry when he's around them, and Toni knows he hates that about himself because he told him so, but he just can't help it, and he told him that, too. Plus, the three of them always make up, which is why Lovino continues to see them, because if he wasn't getting something positive out of the visits, they wouldn't continue. The kid is brave, not stupid.

No, it's more like, Antonio is establishing his territory, because they may be family but he's not theirs anymore. The only reason they get to see him is because Antonio lets them: ultimately, he knows Lovino would be a whole lot more miserable if he didn't. And maybe that's possessive and maybe he doesn't care because he's not perfect and he's not a martyr and he's fucking selfish. So he doesn't give it a second thought when the plane lands (brush fingers "accidentally" while stowing the tray table, lean into the armrest till shoulders meet) and he has to block the aisle while Lovino gathers his things. He stretches his arms across the seats, effectively holding back the surging crowds, because his baby gets overwhelmed when too many people are too close.

He smiles and makes stupid comments and thumbs a knotch in his spine when he finally slides in front of Antonio and they start inching towards the door. In this instance, it's better for Lovino to be distracted by pretending to be mad at Toni for touching him in public rather than noticing how close the quarters are or thinking about the fact that he'll be seeing his brother and his grandfather soon. Antonio doesn't always get it right, but when he sees that trace of a grin, he's pretty sure he nailed that one.

Sometimes they ask him what he gets out of it. Why go to all that trouble? What is he getting in return? So he tells them, "well, he does the most incredible thing with his mouth," and they all nod knowingly and laugh. He's not kidding either, when those two soft (and sweet, he knows this from experience) lips curve upwards, lopsided, always lopsided because he fights it so hard, into a smile, it's like the best drug he could ever imagine.

Because he's not a martyr, and he gets as much out of this relationship as Lovino does.


End file.
